P R E L U D E

On March 1, 1991, I joined the staff of Emory Magazine as a writer and
editor. Since then I have written about myriad Emory people, places, events,
and ideas. I have investigated the odd history of the gravity monument, which
sits in the ground on the west side of the Physics Building; I've sat in the
press box at Tiger Stadium in Detroit and watched alumnus and Hall of Fame
baseball broadcaster Ernie Harwell at work; and I've discussed troubling trends
in Holocaust denial with religion scholar Deborah Lipstadt.

Other than the stories I've written, what I've enjoyed most about my job has
been watching the University--literally. The magazine staff works in an old,
two-story house on North Decatur Road just across the street from the Fishburne
parking deck. Both of the offices I have occupied are on the second floor, and
each one has large windows that overlook the street.

In the past five years, a lot of activity has gone on under my windows. Perhaps
the strangest was a scene that took place every afternoon for almost two years.
At precisely 2:15, a bespectacled man in a small, rundown Toyota would make an
illegal U-turn in the middle of the street. Every day. You could set your watch
by it. More than a year after first noticing this unremitting pattern, I
decided to go out and flag the man down to find out what was going on. Only
then did I learn that he was delivering the Wall Street Journal to the
Department of Economics, which is housed two doors down. Instead of going up
the street and turning around legally, he just decided to save time and
improvise.

Recently, another sort of improvisation has popped up outside my window. The
Fishburne parking deck sits in a giant hole, and the steep rim around the hole
is currently being used by scores of Emory students and neighborhood kids as a
natural mountain-bike launching pad. Almost every sunny afternoon the bikers
line up, head down one side of the ridge to build up speed, and then rocket
into the air on the other side. Needless to say, some of the riders are more
graceful than others, which makes the air show all the more interesting. A
steel sign was recently posted in the bikers' path prohibiting their
high-flying fun, but the sign quickly, and mysteriously, disappeared.

My second-floor office also gives me a fine vantage point from which to take in
one of the University's most joyous days. I have seen five graduating classes
pass my windows on their way to and from Commencement. Many times I have caught
a blurred glimpse of a black-robed student, obviously late, dashing down North
Decatur, hand tightly gripping mortar board, racing furiously for the
Quadrangle. After Commencement, the tone is just the opposite, as new graduates
walk slowly and contentedly up the road, surrounded by family and friends, and
radiating an unmistakable aura of pride and relief.

These are just a few of the things I've noticed in the past half decade that my
desk has faced out on North Decatur Road. I've also seen Emory funerals and
weddings, Emory cross country teams valiantly chugging up and down the street
in weather that would make a mailman cringe, and countless ambulances racing
toward Emory Hospital. With so much Olympic activity taking place on campus
this summer, I can only imagine the show to come.--J.D.T.